On The Eve
by Stalactite Stiletto
Summary: Legolas and Aragorn share a night together before they leave for the Hornburg Fortress.


"It will take us three days to reach the Fords of Isen. There the army shall have proper rest and shelter and tarry for a time to fight. Saruman's orcs have scattered throughout that land, according to the last report from Erkenbrand. From there, two more days should take us to the Hornburg and then on to Orthanc at Isengard. Gandalf claimed he had something planned, but full of mystery is our beloved wizard," Aragorn said with a smile of amusement and took a sip of his wine. "I wouldn't like to guess what he has in mind."

"Nor would I," murmured Legolas.

The Ranger's chambers were small but comfortable, with a bed, a few stands and shelves for books and the like, and a desk in the far corner. There was an open wall that led out into the daylight overlooking the village below the Golden Hall. It afforded a piercing view of the distant eastern mountains. Legolas now gazed out beyond those hills to the object of his foreboding, though it was too far now even for elven eyes. "Aragorn, there is more at stake here than everyone may think."

Aragorn's head tilted slightly. "What do you mean? What is preoccupying you, Legolas?"

"I feel... cold. Fearful. I fear this journey, Aragorn. Only twice before have I truly feared like this. The first was in Moria. We lost Gandalf. I feared at Amon Hen. We lost Boromir and the hobbits. I fear again, Aragorn. Perhaps we ourselves shall not survive this time; perhaps none of the army at all. The King may chant 'Forth, Eorlìngas' if he will, but he may be leading them to their deaths."

"They do not fear death, Legolas; nor should we."

Legolas rubbed his temples in weariness. "It's not that I fear death. It is ...This is a trap, can you not see it, Ranger?"

"We have no choice. We go to protect the King and his people, and from the heated discourse earlier tonight, he refuses to be swayed from this present course of action. ...We go to Helm's Deep."  
"Folly."  
"Maybe, but who are you to contend?" Aragorn quipped, setting his glass down by a small basin.  
"Who are you not to? You are the heir of Isildur; the throne of Men is yours! How can you stand back and allow Theoden to make this mistake?"

Aragorn was silent, his face grim. After a moment he let out his breath through his nostrils and leaned against the wall. "Now is not my time."

Legolas tossed his head in disbelief. "I venture that you are afraid of your task, and you push your time farther and farther away. I say, your time is whenever you would make it."

Aragorn lunged forward and grasped him by the collar. "You know naught of what lies before me! I will know when my time approaches. Do not speak as though you understand my pain!" His features softened and he lessened his grip on the elf, and Legolas shrugged him off instantly.

"Pain..." Legolas mused. "What do you know of pain? Eight hundred years of pain."

"So you are like them? Thinking humans feel none for living so few? I was raised in Rivendell and Lothlorien, as you know, feeling the disdain of the Eldar. Do you believe it too? I did not think you did." Legolas didn't respond, only kept his gaze. Aragorn pressed on. "Speak to me of pain, Legolas, and I'll tell you we all know it. The bodies of men may not last as long as your kind, but we feel enough in our short years to know what it is to live. We don't stand by and let time pass as though it were a dance to watch. We live those years... we live them and appreciate our time, though small it may be."

The elf shook his head mockingly. "No. No, you take what you _want_ , but you do not appreciate anything!"

"Now it is my turn to ask, Greenleaf. What do you know of 'want'?"

There was a pause as Legolas now stared out past the setting sun, feeling the chilling evening winds pass over and through him, leaving him bereft of any will to argue. He merely smiled sadly. "Ah... now there is something I know quite well." He half-turned but did not make eye contact as the night air captured his attentions. "When spring vanishes and the trees no longer sing in Mirkwood; when the King of Elves retreats into the depths of his palace and leaves his sons to their own lives; when the only time bitter Earth lets me feel is in Fangorn where the leafless boughs whisper my regrets to me... that is when I want. Those are times when I want, but can't reach anything beyond my own pathetic binds." He retreated to the marble balcony and leaned out over the edge, closing his eyes and smelling the simple spices of the garden below.

The ache in the other's voice pained him, and Aragorn regretted having challenged Legolas so. He came slowly behind him and rested a hand on the elf's shoulder. "I am sorry."  
"You never meant to bring this out of me, I know that."  
"What is it you want, and I'll try to help you."

Legolas merely watched the fair-haired children of Rohirrim playing below, running through the gardens with gentle childish laughter rising up to meet them. "Strange how their city is failing, and yet their spirits are still free and careless..."

"You want to be free?" the Ranger ventured.

"No," Legolas replied with a thin, strained laugh, turning his back on the open air to face the man now. "I am beyond the need for freedom. T'was a child's fancy, no more. If time has taught me anything, it is that no such thing as freedom exists on these shores."

Aragorn stared a moment; the words burned him with their truth. He had never himself known freedom, even during years alone in the wilds. The pressures of his future weighed upon him even in secluded life. The evening was waning. Aragorn broke their gaze and crossed the room to light the candles by the bed. The wickers caught, and the room took on a pallid glow that complemented the eerie dusk outside.

"Do you see that highest candle, Aragorn?" Legolas indicated with a wave of his hand. "It flickers and wavers, and by morning it will be gone. But while the flame may have vanished, ...I will still be here." Aragorn took a seat on the edge of the bed. Legolas followed suit and sat beside him, bringing his knees up to his chest. "I will always be here. That knowledge gives me no pleasure; gives me no ill. I am merely the trees, the mountains, the other fixtures of the land. I feel... nothing. I have before me an eternity of nothing. So am I nothing as well? "

"Empty," Aragorn corrected. "'Empty' suggests a potential to be filled. 'Nothing' is merely a void-that substance was never there at all. But something _was_ there, was there not, Legolas?"

Legolas was grim and his voice barely a whisper. "Yes... long ago."

Aragorn wrapped his arms around his friend and pressed his cheek to the soft golden strands. Legolas returned the embrace and wondered how in the Vala's name he had ever thought ill of this man, even for a moment. "What I want? I suppose it is that I want to feel again," he murmured.

Aragorn tilted his head to plant a kiss on Legolas' forehead and rubbed his hands over the elf's back. The material was soft, but old and worn. "We must protect the King for now."

"Ai, it is nothing to do with Theoden."

"I know," Aragorn admitted, giving the other's shoulders an encouraging squeeze as he ended the embrace. "But the distraction will keep our wants in check."

Legolas was probing the Ranger's eyes, looking for something to slip. But Aragorn would betray nothing, and so the elf was forced to ask. "I have confided in you of my want, Aragorn. Will you not tell me yours?"

"Not a chance," he countered with a hearty laugh.

"'Tis hardly fair, now, don't you think?" Legolas leaned into him, bumping shoulder against shoulder.

For a fleeting instant, Aragorn saw the other's lip tense. It was obvious his friend's heart was surrounded by a mist. He wanted to help Legolas, but he understood not how he could change such deep scars. Even so, while Aragorn contemplated reasons for the other's tightened lips, the thought of how those lips tasted whisked through his mind.

"What I want, Legolas?"  
"Yes?"  
More contemplation, and then Aragorn's voice came as barely a whisper. "I want... love."

This took Legolas by surprise. He was cautious in his approach, not wanting to hurt the ranger more but unable to suppress his questions. "Do you not have the heart of the Evenstar?"

"Yes, and it is what pains me most."

"I- I don't understand," Legolas blinked.

Aragorn sighed and finally faced the questions he had left buried in Rivendell. "She loved me with all her heart. She was willing to forfeit her ties to her people and to an immortal life to be with me; to stay in Middle-Earth when all she knew would fade across the West and her home eventually recede into the Earth." His lungs clenched in his chest as he shared words about the Evenstar for the very first time. "She would be bound with me in Gondor for only a hundred years or so until I passed into the Halls of the Dead. From there she would either wander the elder lands alone, or vanish herself. ...It filled me with guilt; such crushing guilt that it swallowed my love and tainted it." He looked up to face Legolas with bitter resolve. "I would not be the cause of her death; not when it could be prevented. Who is she to burden me with this weight?"

"But Aragorn, to her it is not a burden! Love should be a choice; never a burden. And her choice was to love you!"

"So now you understand," the Ranger replied simply.

Legolas fell silent. He had spoken in Arwen's defense, but his words sunk like an anchor. He thought a moment longer, then nodded solemnly. "Yes. 'Never a burden'."

"We spoke the night before the Nine set out, though we never mentioned our parting. I left without saying goodbye," Aragorn noted solemnly.

"I am sure you tried." There was an uncomfortable pause, and Legolas let out a heavy breath. "I would do what I could to help you, Aragorn, but this... this is beyond me. I want to comfort you, but I- I honestly know not. Maybe I should go, I've outlasted my welcome," he rose to leave and cursed himself for having initiated this night's bandying of secrets.

"No, wait." Aragorn stood and touched Legolas' arm before he passed. "You are always welcome. Please stay."

Legolas halted in his steps. The man glanced longingly out the balcony and then turned his attention to Legolas, the longing still evident in his eyes. "You don't honestly know, you said. But I do." Still holding the elf's arm, he raised his other hand to Legolas' cheek, caressing the soft skin there. He expected Legolas to flinch but he did not. Instead, the elf only leaned closer. Aragorn moved to embrace him and found the motion was returned. "I will help you to feel again, Legolas, if you ...you will help me to love again."

The response was a brush of lips against the Man's cheek. Aragorn tilted his head to capture them, and contentment washed over him; the feel of the moist swell of Legolas' lower lip against his own was slow and lasting as though there was nothing but this bedchamber in the whole of the South.

Legolas' features relaxed and he allowed his neck to be smothered in praising kisses. Then Aragorn ran his mouth up along a slender cheekbone, moving constantly upward and nipping at the pointed ear. Legolas breathed sharply, and Aragorn moved on affectionately to the brow, cupping the elf's face in his hands. Legolas felt the Ranger's hot breath surge over his skin; the sensation was too powerful, and he pushed up to meet the other's inviting mouth.

Aragorn reached down to the elf's belt and began to undo the buckle. A groan from Aragorn reverberated in the other's mouth as the buckle seemed too complicated to work blindly. The elf's hands landed roughly on Aragorn's and staid them. Aragorn came back to reality and realized he was being too rash; that his friend did not appreciate this. What was he doing? Aragorn felt his cheeks grow hot as fire, and he wished he could take back what he had done in these last few moments.

There was an aching pause until the pale hands relaxed their hard grip, and long slender fingers guided the calloused ones. Seconds later the belt fell to the ground with a clang.

Aragorn released the other's mouth, wondering if Legolas was serious. He found himself gazing into waiting green eyes staring back at him. Drowning in lust, he pulled Legolas' tunic over his head in a frenzy and pushed him back on the bed, landing on top. He reached around Legolas' back and pulled the elf up to him.

Legolas let his head fall back as Aragorn worshiped his body with lips, tongue, and breath. The elf then reached back up and met Aragorn's lips again hungrily. To him, the Ranger's rough mannerisms were the most attractive. Aragorn's face was lightly bearded, as most Men were at his age, but careworn as well; weathered from years of living in the wild. However, Legolas saw it not as a mar but an enhancement of beauty. Aragorn had been one with Nature, letting her provide for him for many years of his life. The elf admired such devotion to the earth and read its marks on him with desire.

The elf's pale chest was smooth, but firm and well-muscled, toned with many centuries of archery. The glossy skin glowed hues of apricot in the candlelight. There was a scar across Legolas' breast. Aragorn was surprised the other bore only the one scar, for he possessed many of his own. The Ranger's eyes moved to the stand beside his pillow and, in seeing the goblet, his lips twisted. Reaching over, he dipped his fingers in the dark liquid and brought them down to trace affectionate and curious circles around the elf's stiffened nipples. Legolas groaned lightly and took Aragorn's hand in his, bringing it to his mouth to taste the wine-drenched fingers. Aragorn let out an excited sigh and dived down to capture a hardened nub in his mouth. Legolas clutched Aragorn's dark hazel locks and arched to meet the suckling with an ecstatic moan.

Leaving one arm wrapped around Legolas' back, the other trailed down to the tie of the elf's leggings, a clever hand pulling them loose and tugging the soft material down muscled thighs. He smiled; never had the Ranger presumed Legolas wanted this as badly as he did. They both sunk back to the bed, and in two heartbeats the fabric was on the cracked stone floor.

Aragorn ran his hands up and down the elf's hips and let them rest again fondly on his waist. He ran two forefingers down the center of Legolas' stomach, letting them dip into his naval. From there he planted kisses down the skin, smiling as golden curls tickled his lips.

Legolas smiled at the feel of the Ranger's beard moving down his skin. Aragorn backed away and let his ravenous hands caress Legolas' groin, moving down through sensitive flesh and rubbing in slow, agonizing movements at the underside of his member. Legolas writhed under the Man's motions, each twist of his body begging silently for more; he craved the touch of another like a parched tongue craves water. It was difficult for Legolas to catch his breath. When Aragorn touched him like this... it was too much; his body burned with animal-like want, or perhaps a suppressed carnal truth about his Eldar nature.

Aragorn bent his head to close the distance and flicked his tongue in swift strokes up the hardened length and back down again. Hearing the stifled groans of his lover, his tongue and lips quickened their worship as his right hand unconsciously wound around a thigh, gripping the muscled flesh. Every other thought, every hesitation was dispelled as his body exorcised reason with each touch. The only thing he could comprehend was the need between his own legs and the elf's matching need in his mouth.

Aragorn's hands took over, gently touching and teasing, letting a finger spread seeping moisture over the head. A shudder climbed up Legolas' spine, and he whimpered helplessly as the man's hands abandoned their work to remove his own trousers. Aragorn's arms wound under the other's arching back again, and he ground his own throbbing arousal into his lover's. His hands shifted ever downward, tracing the curve of thick, war-honed buttocks with eager palms.

"Ai..." Legolas breathed, pleading with his eyes to finish him. Let Mordor bring down the Golden Hall around them, but by the Vala let not Aragorn leave him unsatisfied tonight.

Aragorn held Legolas to his chest with one arm while the other slipped down again to declare victory over Legolas' begging flesh, milking him for the last of his strength. Legolas tried to restrain his voice lest they be discovered by some passerby in the hall, but his whispers evolved into passion-drenched groans as he emptied himself over Aragorn's thighs. The man waited for Legolas' body tension to subside and then brushed his fingers up through the elf's hair to hold his neck. Legolas' turned his head to meet the ranger's gaze and smiled back. Aragorn reached with his free hand to tease through the warm, glossy stream running down his legs to the bed. To his lips he brought the taste and voiced his pleasure.

They both fell back against the pillows, shaking the bed. Despite his loss of breath, Legolas couldn't help himself from laughing gaily. Aragorn leaned down and rested his head on the elf's shoulder, kissing lightly where his ear met his cheekbone. "You find me humorous, meleth-nin?"

Legolas only smiled and tilted his head, parting his lips to allow Aragorn's tongue to caress his own. Aragorn savored the warmth he found there and rolled atop him, pressing Legolas deep into the bed as his hands wrapped again around the elf's thighs. At the same time, Legolas' hands tangled in the dark hazel hair that fell about the other's neck, his lips diverting from Aragorn's briefly to let the man's breath fall softly on the hollow of his throat.

The moon was rising above Edoras, contrasting with the the sky in a green, ocean foam tint and outlining the fiendish, swirling patterns of clouds above. The moon beams drifted in through the balcony, confusing the candlelight. But the Edoras night was still young and far from being satisfied; the night and two kin in fellowship had much in common. It would be a long night indeed, and forth the moon bade it. The man ran his thumb tenderly across Legolas' lips, now pursed in anticipation of what would come next. Aragorn saw the mirthful anxiety written on the elven features and smiled, pressing a gentle kiss against warm lips. "Put your trust in me, Thranduilion, Bain."

In response to a nudge in his side, Legolas rolled to his stomach, smiling into the pillow as he felt the man's scrutinizing eyes on him. He let his head rest on its side, relishing the fluffed softness of his lover's pillow. "I sense your plotting. What am I in for now, Lord Aragorn?"

"You need not be so formal," Aragorn replied with a grin, reaching to retrieve the wine goblet from earlier on the nightstand. He took a generous sip, hesitated for a moment, then poured the cup slowly over Legolas' back, who flinched in response. It trickled down his spine and Aragorn brought hands over the pale skin, rubbing it in like a fragrant oil, lingering over the elf's shoulder blades and resting his thumbs between them. Legolas bucked into the other's caress, and even more so when Aragorn leaned down to lick the precious drink from his back. Veins of the plum liquid welled between Aragorn's fingers. Calloused but gentle hands slowly let wine seep down the skin and collect in an oval pool at the small of his back. Aragorn bent to sip from his new organic chalice. The elf inhaled acutely as droplets trickled farther, through the cleft of his skin and lingering at the hidden entrance to his body.

Aragorn smiled at the elf's response. "You are enjoying this?" he said after finishing his sample, and continued rubbing the wet skin of his lover's back.

"Ai, yes" he answered whimsically.

Aragorn took the water flask from the nightstand and let its contents splatter over Legolas' skin, who again tensed at the sudden touch. Aragorn spread it around to remove any of the remaining wine before sticky patches formed. He then tipped the flask over the back of Legolas' neck with a smile, waiting for the elf's reaction. Legolas flinched immediately and rolled over to face the playful attacker, rubbing at his neck. Glancing down at Aragorn's abdomen he saw the ivory liquid evidence of their lovemaking still glistening on Aragorn's skin. "It would seem as if you need cleaning as well," he said in a husky voice that sent Aragorn's heart jumping into his throat. The elf hastily took the flask, poured generously over Aragorn's stomach, and let his hands roam the tender area, leaning down to push his tongue into the Man's navel, which earned a throaty groan from his victim.

Aragorn, despite his flustering from the elf's tongue, saw his chance and swiftly stole the flask to empty the rest of it over the elf's head. Legolas jolted back and Aragorn came down on top of him, binding Legolas' hands in his fists and holding them above the his head. Legolas' hair was a golden blanket strewn across the pillow, wet and matted strands here and there falling across his forehead and cheek. "It would seem you are my captive," Aragorn noted.

Legolas raised a playful brow. "You know I could break free and jump over the balcony before you even knew I'd moved."

"Aye." He leaned closer and spoke into the other's ear. "But I know you won't."

"Why?" Legolas asked, his eyes closing and his lips brushing across the man's, then down to suckle at the corner of his chin.

"Because you want this just as badly as I do."  
"Ah-h. More so, I think," he replied with a zealous smile.  
"I think such a thing impossible." With that, Aragorn silenced him with his mouth. Their bodies traded heat, one above the other; so close it felt almost as though their skin had melted together. Legolas could feel the man's heart beating quickly against his own, driven on by the living pulse of the night.

Aragorn's hands slowly trailed down over swells of muscle beneath creamy skin, moving past Legolas' waist and down to the contours of his thighs. The man wedged his knees between the other's legs and gave Legolas's chest a small nudge that said he wanted him face-down on the bed again. Legolas complied with silent thrill; he had never been taken by a man. In fact, this act was forbidden for elves with anyone but elven kind. But then, Legolas had never been one for rules.

Aragorn, positioned kingly atop the elf's legs, massaged the rising hips and leaned in close to admire Legolas' taut buttocks, which changed hues in the candlelight and collected shadows across their deep curves. He squeezed and explored the shape with his hands at the same time his lips dragged hungry kisses across the skin. As his fingers glided inward, his face too pushed the fleshy cheeks apart to lap at their epicenter. Aragorn felt Legolas tense beneath his hands. The elf's tight hollow seized; shifting between sealed tight and wide open begging beneath his tongue. Aragorn pressed his advance and kissed and teased the opening until one thumb could push inside. He heard Legolas' gasp from what sounded like a far away place. He pried his other thumb into the depths, now wet with his spittle, and his tongue mined the inner walls like the dwarves of Erebor.

Legolas, flustered and panting, couldn't escape the wet attacks no matter how he moved his hips, but his movements were purely reflex, for he had no desire for the sensation to stop. "Ai..." he breathed, as he felt Aragorn's lips fade away and his hands start to reshape him from the inside. Different fingers now; these were longer, as they trespassed farther than the previous incursions. Again and again he felt the fingers withdraw only to return a moment later wetter and with more force, driving deeper. Legolas arched upwards and bucked to one side, but it was at that moment that he felt the last of his clenching muscles give way, and he moaned as he began to rock into the fingers.

Aragorn smiled into Legolas neck, and gently, lovingly swirled his fingers within his lover one last time before withdrawing. With one hand on the lithe elven back beneath him, the other hand now stroked and wetted his own manhood. Aragorn sighed deeply as he felt his arousal, staring down at the elven feast it would soon consume. He took a deep breath and brought himself to Legolas' entrance, which eagerly pulsed with want of him.

Legolas couldn't cry out, for no voice would come, nor would breath. His limbs wouldn't reply. He just lay there on his knees, muscles tight, processing the sensation. When the necessity of breath occurred to him, air came in quick gasps. But his lower body adjusted quickly to the intrusion, and soon enough yet an eternity later the pain gave way to a greater pleasure. There was a new level of sense as every intake of breath moved his body differently around Aragorn's stone-hard length. His hips moved in every conceivable direction to take more of him. He wanted all of Aragorn, quickly and forcefully, and sat back against the man's groin to make it so again and again.

Aragorn bore witness to the elf's ecstasy as uneven breaths and pleasure-spawned moans melded in the elf's throat, escaping his mouth like music. The Elven Song of Passion; Aragorn wondered if he had ever heard anything more beautiful in nature. At this moment he felt as if his entire purpose for living was to please Legolas. With thoughts as these he plowed forward in steady, adoring movements, his sack beating against elven thighs. The song continued, to the Ranger's delight. Aragorn made a point of meeting that soft province of flesh deep within the elf with every thrust; each time driving into him with more force until his member was so swollen he thought he might be causing the elf pain, but apparently it gave Legolas even more pleasure; the song was indisputable.

The air left Legolas' lungs as areas of his body he once thought forbidden to outsiders was vulgarly, blissfully mapped by the man he trusted most in this life. His muscles clenched around Aragorn's member, capturing his friend in binds of ecstasy. The man's ransom was soon paid as his desire flooded into the depths of the elf's body with a deep shriek echoed by Legolas' own.

Aragorn lay helpless atop the elf' slender, sweat-coated frame, wishing never to be taken from this soft bed in the comforts of Edoras; for tomorrow's flight to the Hornburg to never come; for the dawn to shun its duty. Legolas finally breathed wholly again, his body tingling with the aftershock of Aragorn's devotions. They lay contentedly tangled among the sheets, though it was difficult at times to feel the sheets or the weight of the woolen blankets, so focused on the touch of skin to skin were they. After some time Aragorn reluctantly began to pull away, thinking it best for Legolas to leave before someone discovered them together in this compromising way.

"Ai, Aragorn," Legolas contested in a tired, whispering voice as he turned his head to gaze at his lover. "Please... let us spend this night together."

Aragorn stared hesitantly into the green lakes of eyes, mirrors of his own tenderness. "If someone were to find us..."

"I know. Please," he asked softly again, reaching up to cup Aragorn's cheek in his palm. "This may be our last chance."

Aragorn's heart melted at the gentle, pleading look accompanied by the equally gentle touch. He complied and returned to the place he'd warmed in the bed, draping his arms around the elf. And together they stayed throughout this eve in peace, wondering what the morning would bring them; wondering what the rest of their empty lives would bring them besides warfare and bloodshed and uncertainties. "Gi melin..." Aragorn thought he heard Legolas murmur, but when he leaned closer to hear more, Legolas' breath was even and heavy as one who is asleep. Aragorn breathed out with a smile and rested his head next to the elf's on the pillow, closing his eyes to join in one last, restful sleep.

-  
notes:  
*Thranduilion - son of Thranduil  
*Bain - beautiful one  
*Meleth-nin - my love  
*Gi melin - I love you  
-


End file.
